


Fall Apart

by lespetitesmorts



Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: Divorce, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 21:44:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lespetitesmorts/pseuds/lespetitesmorts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Rizzles divorce fic with brief moments of fluff. Mostly pretty heartbreaking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Promises

Of all the outcomes Detective Jane Rizzoli had theorized, this was not one she'd seen coming. Yeah, okay, so maybe she'd been a tiny bit reckless on their latest bust. But in all honesty, who wouldn't have thrown themselves in front of a bullet for a kid? That's right: no one. It was the smart decision; the only decision.

Apparently that didn't mean enough to some people. But that's just the thing. If anyone could've understood why she did what she did, she would have sworn up and down that it would be Maura. At least, up until four days ago, when they'd still been married and happy, but most importantly, together.

Guess you never really know someone, no matter how much you believe you do.

She had to give the doctor props though, her lawyers knew how to draw up divorce papers in no time. Or maybe they'd been locked away since the wedding, slowly gathering dust until duty called. Maybe Maura'd always known that this would be how it would end: with her walking away. Because everyone and their mother knew that there was no way in hell Jane would ever walk away from her. No, Doctor Isles was doing the leaving.

Even though she'd promised to be there, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. Jane thought she knew what she was getting into, saying vows with a cop. Jane has to hand it to her, though, it takes real gall to serve divorce papers with the divorcee still in a hospital bed. Maura was lucky Jane was left-handed, or she'd have to wait until her right shoulder healed enough to sign her name.

Maybe Maura wasn't the only one who saw this coming. It would explain Jane's non-reaction throughout the whole ordeal. Like she knew this was a fleeting dream and any moment she'd wake up only to fond memories and no real future. Maybe they were doomed from the start. But they'd been in love, the purest form of love, and Jane had hoped it would be enough. It was. For her, not for Maura.

Or maybe it was simply the cocktail of painkillers flowing through her veins, removing her from the emotional implosion temporarily. Jane was starting to realize that there were a whole lot of maybes. She glanced at the clock, stunned at the fact that she only had five minutes left. Maura had been in an hour ago with the papers, calmly explaining her reasons and thoughts. After half an hour of words pouring out of the doctor's mouth, delivered with a clinical coldness Jane hadn't heard in years, she'd stopped Maura mid-sentence with a soft raise of her hand.

"Can you go get a coffee or something and come back in half an hour? I just need some time," she'd asked and Maura had nodded tightly, and was out the door mere seconds later. Already they were too polite, too formal; overcompensating.

The door opened and Maura re-entered the ward. Jane didn't want to prolong any of it, but she still had something she needed to know.

"I just need you to answer two questions, Maur," and she paused until the doctor nodded her acquiescence. The heart rate monitor echoed Jane's deep breath. "First, Maura Dorothea Isles, is this what you want?" Automatically a scowl graced Maura's face and her lips parted to spew indignity. Jane shook her head. "I need to know that this is all you. If you're doing this for your family or for some Goddamn noble reason or something, I just want to know. Frankly, I think I deserve to know."

"I told you, Jane, I can't do it anymore. I can't be with you anymore."

Jane nodded silently, thoughtfully; now for the real question. "Was any of this real for you? Did you ever actually love me?"

Maura's mouth dropped open in shock, a crack in her demeanour showing the hurt in her eyes. She took an involuntary step forward. "Jane – I – Of course I loved you."

And with that, Jane picked up the pen and made her mark, eyes now refusing to look at her soon to be ex-wife. "I'm sorry it wasn't enough," and she thrust the papers back into Maura's hands, gesturing for her to leave as she did so.

During her exit is the only time Jane saw Maura hesitate.

Sometimes, Jane thought, Sometimes people don't understand the promises they're making when they make them. She tapped her pain pump and drifted away on a sea of morphine.


	2. Missing

When she wakes up, she's disoriented; an unwelcome side-effect to taking pain meds. She looks around her room and frowns. There's definitely something missing, but she can't quite place her finger on it. She inspects herself first. Shoulder's screaming, but when you have a bullet shatter through you, that's to be expected. Her gun's probably been taken for analysis. Her badge is on the table beside her. So what's missing?

She can hear her Ma down the hall giving hell to a nurse who most likely doesn't deserve the tongue-lashing.

"How dare you let my baby receive her yesterday? She's in a hospital bed, for crying out loud, you think she needs divorce papers to top all that off?"

Oh, right. That. And that's when Jane realizes what's missing: Maura. She allows herself one snuffle, but won't let her hand press the pump again. She shouldn't go from one addiction to another, especially when the first turned out to be less healthy than she thought. Okay, she can give herself leave for another snuffle if she's going to badass her way through waves of pain.

She wants to roll onto her side, but with all the tubes hooked up to her and the intricate sling surrounding her arm, she pushes down on the desire. She tries to look everywhere but at the plastic seat beside her bed or the door she'd let the love of her life walk out through yesterday.

Shit, she's actually going to have to deal with this. And apparently her mind is dead set on 'right now'. Through eyes half-closed in anticipation of the hurt, she looks down at her left hand. Yeah, the ring is still there alright; mocking her, taunting her. How could she have been so foolish? How could she have been so naïve as to actually believe that that perfect goddess was meant for her? How could she have believed that she had anything to offer the woman who had it all or could get it all with just the snap of her fingers.

It wasn't anything new. She'd always known the doctor was slumming with her, even when they'd just been friends. It's amazing what your heart can talk you into when you want it so badly to be the truth. She was a broken, blue-collar, temperamental cop. She didn't belong in Maura's world. God, even her name could make her heart twist and ache.

She thought about taking the ring off, showing the world that this wouldn't break and define her as other events had. She'd lived without Maura before; she could do it again. But that was a half-life and you know it, the thought was an immediate response to a life without her doctor.

The gripping sensation in her chest intensified.

No, she'd leave the ring on. Marriage goes two ways, after all. She meant it when she said 'til death do us part' and Jane Rizzoli does not go back on her word.

Maura never went back on her word either. Until this, anyway. Idly, Jane wondered if her ex-wife was experiencing a good case of hives for the lies she'd told yesterday. She hoped she did, even hoped she'd experienced a vasovagal experience, despite the guilt she felt at the thoughts.

Part of her wished she'd never met the doctor, to spare herself the crushing pain of loss that was bubbling just under the surface of the waning morphine. But part of her wouldn't trade a single second of Maura Isles being in her life, not for all the pain in the world.

Eventually she'd have to go back. Back to the precinct, back to their house, back to her life which had Maura in every single aspect. She should embrace the respite while she can, before she has to face that woman every day and know that even though she had once been hers, she never would be again. After all, she knew Doctor Isles. She knew Maura wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

She glances down at her ring again and the memory of the day it was placed on her finger erupts behind her eyelids, crystalline in clarity. She doesn't notice the tears slipping out of the corners of her eyes.

Her phone beeps from the table beside her. The ID tells her it's someone she'd rather not hear anything from. It's probably just something about when the doctor will be away from the house, so she can pick up her things, her remnants of a former life, without disturbing the peace of the one left whole. She shudders at the thought. She stares at her phone in contemplation for several minutes. She shrugs. Why not drive the knife in a little deeper? Maybe if she shatters a little more, she won't ever have to try and put herself back together. Maybe she can just stay broken and no one will mind.

She opens the text message. Thank you for signing the papers, Detective Rizzoli.

Yeah, Maura may have believed she loved her, but any trace of that is gone. She smirks bitterly as she types out her reply. The smile fades as she appraises her pain pump. She checks the room, more out of habit than actual necessity as she knows there's no one there. She gives it a tap, knowing it won't hurt anyone but her in the long run.

You're welcome, Doctor Isles, but it's Detective Rizzoli-Isles.


	3. Numb

They released her from the hospital after another couple of days of observation. She pulled herself out of the wheelchair as soon as she cleared the front door, opting to wait for her Ma to bring the car in front while standing. She didn't even know where she was supposed to go.

At some point, she'd have to return to their- to Maura's house, but it's not like she had an apartment anymore. And there was no way in hell that she was going to stay at her Ma's place in Maura's backyard.

Her Ma pulled up and Jane hopped in silently. She spent the drive actively ignoring the copious looks of concern her mother shot her, but she was grateful Angela didn't seem to feel the need to speak. There was only so much a woman can deal with at one time.

"I didn't think you'd want to stay with me, so Frankie offered up an air mattress on his living room floor." Her Ma looked over at her once again. "I thought you'd prefer that."

Jane nodded her agreement before adding a soft, "Thanks, Ma," because the woman was driving and shouldn't have been able to see the movement.

They didn't say anything about where else Jane won't be going. They didn't let slip the slightest mention of a certain tortoise-loving doctor. They didn't discuss the current status of Jane's marriage.

Jane was thankful they didn't say anything. She got out of the car at Frankie's and pulled a bag of clothes from the trunk before suffering through a too-tight hug from her mother. She waited til her mother drove away before mounting the stairs.

Frankie was waiting in the doorway. He didn't utter a thing, simply gestured for Jane to come in and pointed out the tent looking ridiculous in his crowded living room/kitchen area. "I don't have another room, this is the best I could do." He shrugged when he said it, but Jane gave him a long hug in appreciation. He was a good kid when you got right down to it. He shouldn't have had to take in his older sister.

"I pulled the double: night shift with a morning right after, so you have the place to yourself for a while," he said as he slipped into his room. Ten minutes later he reappeared. "Beer's in the fridge, game should be on at seven, and I'll see you tomorrow."

He didn't treat her differently than usual. He didn't coddle her or force her into a hug. She loved him for that; for knowing her. For knowing her the best, not including her best friend. Or maybe it was ex-best friend now. If it was ex-wife, it was probably a good indication that they would no longer be LLBFFs. Even though they'd promised.

She contemplated the beer in the fridge, but she didn't want to steal his liquor. Plucking the spare set of keys from the counter, she left the apartment. She returned thirty minutes later with a bottle of vodka in a paper bag tucked under her arm. She'd give herself one night. One night to try and forget, to try not to feel anything, but that's all she'd get.

This wouldn't break her.

She'd make a game of it. For every good memory, one swallow. For every bad one, two. She eyed the bottle beside her. There were a lot of memories; one bottle wouldn't get them all done. She shook her head. That was the point. The aim of the game was not to die from alcohol poisoning. She couldn't go out like that, not about something like this. Just one night.

There was an unforeseen flaw to Jane's master plan. Alcohol doesn't actually make you forget; it just removes you from reality for a moment. It doesn't erase pain; it magnifies it. That was the lesson Jane learned while lying on the air mattress in her tent, in the middle of her younger brother's apartment, with a quarter bottle of vodka cradled beside her at three in the morning.

She couldn't stop crying. Rivers of tears streamed from her eyes, ugly sobs wracked her chest, and her nose was stuffed up. Still, she soldiered on. Two good memories in succession, causing yet another increase in her roller coaster-like crying jag. Another bad one. Two swallows. It led her to another painful memory. Two more swallows. And another. Two more.

It'd been eight and a half hours since she'd started her well-deserved pity party. With a last good reminiscence, she drained the bottle. Idly, with her vision scrambling before her eyes, she feared the massive hangover she'd have to endure when she woke. Looking around her at the dark canvas surrounding her, she was also thankful she'd hidden her phone. A blubbering, drunk phone call, vomiting out the sea of emotion within her, would have been disastrous.

Instead she made a promise to herself; one she hoped she'd remember and keep: Never let her know how much it hurts.


End file.
